


Love You So Bad

by usuallysunny



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Angst and Fluff, High School, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 11:30:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17600510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usuallysunny/pseuds/usuallysunny
Summary: It's the summer of '93 and Mac's only sure of three things: Charlie will be his best friend forever, Project Badass is going to take over the world and no-one makes him feel quite like Dennis Reynolds does.





	Love You So Bad

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! So this is the longest thing I've ever written - but Macdennis trash is my favourite thing in the world so it makes sense. 
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS for underage drinking and drug use, abortion and (brief) mentions of rape. Please forgive any timeline/cultural inaccuracies as I'm not American - I hope I got the general gist of high school right, though. Title is inspired by the song from Ezra Furman.

Everything changes for Mac, the summer he turns sixteen.

When he was fifteen, his Mom would make him ham and cheese sandwiches every morning for breakfast and she'd slip a bag of Tootsie Rolls in his lunch box too. Before bed, she'd kiss him on the forehead and every Christmas they'd go next door to collect his presents and he'd believe it was the best South Philly tradition until he was thirty.

But the summer Mac turns sixteen, there are no more sandwiches and his Mom stops kissing him and then she stops communicating with words altogether. The late-night screaming matches with his Dad, the ones that make him screw his eyes shut, covering his ears with his pillow while he hums _Smells Like Teen Spirit_ , stop too.

But that's because one night in June, red and blue lights stream outside his window and his Dad is taken away in a cop car.

He's innocent, obviously. Mac knows that. Just another innocent man being railroaded by the goddamn system. But he's always felt too many things at once and now he just wants to kick everyone's ass, all the time. Especially when he sees his Mom standing in-front of the fridge in her ratty robe, not making his sandwiches.

"Goddamn it, Mama." He sighs and he wishes she'd scold him for cursing, "What are you doing?"

She grabs a bottle of beer and he snatches it away.

His Mom doesn't answer and he misses her voice like a hole in his chest. There are wrinkles around her eyes and her chapped lips are set in a thin line and she looks so _sad_ , which is stupid.

Mamas don't get sad.

He spends more time at Charlie's. Charlie is his best friend in the whole world and his Mom smiles all the time. She kisses him and hugs him and calls him _her_ Charlie and Mac's sick with jealousy. The night his Mom smokes 15 cigarettes and passes out with a bottle of tequila in her lap, Mac climbs through Charlie's window and brushes his teeth next to him.

Charlie doesn't question why he's there. Charlie never asks questions. He spits in the sink and looks at him in the mirror for a few seconds.

"I'll make you up a bed." He says simply, even though they always end up sharing. He casually tosses his toothbrush on the counter and Mac grimaces, picking it up and placing it carefully in the holder.

He doesn't mind, though, because it's the least he can do; Charlie's always cleaning up his messes.

That night, Mac lays on the floor on Charlie's makeshift bed (a blanket with holes in it and a dirty pillow) and his eyes are closed but he's not asleep. Like clockwork, he hears Charlie whimper above him and he sighs, sitting up.

Charlie has nightmares. Mac knows what about. He catches a name – _Uncle Jack_ – muttered in-between snivels. His hands curl into fists until his knuckles turn white. He's never felt so much hatred for someone he's never met before. They don't mention it during the day - they're _boys_ and _sixteen_ and they don't talk about their feelings because that's gay – but Charlie knows and Mac understands.

Mac thinks if he ever does meet Uncle Jack, he'll beat the shit out of him. He won't stand a chance against him because he's growing into a real badass now and he's so strong, Stacey Corvelli even commented on his biceps the other day.

There really isn't anything he wouldn't do for Charlie so he crawls into the bed and it's tight and uncomfortable and he squishes him against the cold wall. As soon as their fingertips touch, Charlie relaxes and Mac can sleep.

 

 

The next morning dawns perfectly sunny and warm and Mac's happy it's a Saturday. He hates school. School is bullshit, in his opinion.

Charlie's Mom – Bonnie, though Mac calls her Mrs Kelly because he's super respectful – is making pancakes downstairs and he practically inhales them. His stomach rumbles and he realises he hasn't eaten in two days but Charlie and his Mom don't say anything.

"What do you wanna do today, dude?" Mac asks through greedy mouthfuls, even though he knows Charlie's too dumb to decide.

"Dunno."

Mac's eyes kind of shift towards Mrs Kelly because he knows the things they really want to do – steal some marbles and beer from the local store, throw rocks at trains, huff glue – aren't the sort of things you say in-front of Moms.

Maybe _his_ Mama, because she doesn't care, but not Charlie's.

"Maybe we can see if the twins are around." Mac offers and hopes his voice sounds casual.

Dennis and Dee Reynolds live down the street, in a big mansion Dennis won't invite them to. Mac doesn't give a shit about Dee. She's annoying and she wears this back brace that got in the way the one time they made out when they were bored. But Dennis is pretty cool. Sure, he's mean and arrogant and kind of an asshole, but Mac gets this weird stirring in the pit of his belly every time he smiles at him. Not that he lets himself think about what that might mean.

Mrs Kelly breathes a sigh and when she speaks, her voice is all musical and sweet and nothing like he remembers his Mom's being.

"I told you to stay away from those two, Charlie." She frowns and pouts, "They're no good."

"Shut up, Mom." Charlie grumbles and even though he doesn't agree with her, Mac wants to smack him for being so disrespectful.

"They're not, Charlie!" She practically shrieks. "The girl is always hanging around _The All American Home Store_ with _boys_ ; she's a little tramp, Charlie! And the boy smokes cigarettes and Mr Ponderosa caught him with sweet Maureen in the back of his Datsun."

Mac stays silent. Really, he wants to call her out because he's seen men sneaking out of her bedroom when she thinks they're asleep, so she's being a hypocrite, and she doesn't know shit about Dennis either.

"Dennis and Dee are cool, Mom." Charlie insists. "Don't tell me what to do. Goddamn it, just go away. Go away from me."

Mrs Kelly gives that strange smile she does sometimes, all distant and fake, and she pats Charlie's cheek. He bats her away, irritated, and Mac thinks he should know how lucky he is.

"Okay, sweetie." She bounces off, weird and entirely too happy.

Once she's gone, Mac waits 5 seconds before he brings it up again.

"So, shall we hit Dennis up?"

Charlie quirks a brow, pushing his plate towards him. Mac wordlessly understands and happily devours his leftovers. Charlie tilts his head and looks at him, _through_ him, seeing far more than a person as stupid as Charlie should.

"And Dee?"

Mac stills. "Yeah, dude. Obviously."

"Is it obvious? I dunno, man. You seem a bit obsessed with Dennis lately."

"I am _not_ obsessed!" Mac says and his face burns and he's suddenly furious for no reason.

"Uh, yeah you are. You get all red when he's around and you always come up with excuses to touch him and—"

"Shut the fuck up, Charlie." Mac seethes. "Just shut your goddamn mouth."

"Okay." He mumbles, giving up too easily.

"What's your deal?"

Charlie purses his lips and sighs.

"Nothing. My Mom says not to upset you… because your Mom is going through a hard time and your Dad's gone and you don't really have anyone."

"Well, your Dad's gone too. At least mine is coming back."

Charlie stays quiet.

"He is, Charlie." Mac insists and his throat burns. "He didn't even do anything, so he'll be back soon. You and your Mom don't know shit."

He stands up and the rickety chair scrapes on the floor when he barges out.

 

 

He forgives Charlie pretty much straight away because burying things and pretending nothing has happened is something he's good at.

When he goes home, he climbs the drainpipe and slips through his bedroom window. He likes to pretend his Mom would be super mad if she caught him sneaking through the front door.

It's eerily quiet so he wanders the house, looking for her. When he finds her, he wishes he hadn't.

She's passed out on the couch, surrounded by empty bottles of hard liquor and cigarette butts that burn into the carpet.

"Mama." Mac shakes her, first softly and then more firm. His stomach drops when he notices how cold and still she is. He calls her name again and he feels like he might throw up but then she coughs herself awake. 

He's suddenly fuming, angry at her for scaring him like that. He wants to hurt her, wants to break her like she's breaking him.

"Goddamn it, Mom." He spits, giving her foot a little kick. "Why are you doing this?"

She just grunts in reply, blinking to life and reaching for a cigarette like they're more important than air.

"No." Mac bats the carton away, "No more cigarettes. No more drink. No more of this. You get up. You get up and you start being a Mom."

He can feel himself getting hysterical, his vision blazing.

She grunts again and Mac wants to scream. He wants… _something_. Some kind of reaction. He wants to know what she thinks about Dad being gone, whether she thinks he's innocent the way Mac _knows_ he is. He wants her to tell him not to be stupid, of course Dad's innocent, of course he’s coming home, because no-one's said that to him yet.

His chest hurts and there's a lump in his throat and he doesn't know what the hell he's going to do without Dad. Who's going to take care of them? Who's going to have a catch with him, the one he hadn't gotten around to yet? 

He wants his Dad and he wants his Mom too. This isn't her. She's right in front of him and he misses her so bad it scares him.

"I want Dad." He bites out stubbornly.

She glares at him.

"I want Dad!"

A grunt.

"I want Dad!" He shrieks, loud and fierce.

"I don't care!" She finally shouts back, voice different and heavy with cigarette smoke. "Your Dad's a no good piece of shit! I hope he never comes back. I hope he fucking rots in there. I hope he goes to Hell and you can goddamn join him."

Mac freezes. For the first time ever, he wants her to shut up. He wants her to stop talking.

He takes a step back.

"You should've treated him more better."

He says because it's 1993 and obviously it's the woman's fault if her husband gets into trouble. He's so angry, his skin prickles and he blinks back hot tears.

He'll never cry because badasses don't cry and his Mom doesn't speak again.

 

 

Mac's playing basketball with Charlie and Dennis in the worn-down court by school, when Charlie takes off after a stray cat he sees.

Dennis rolls his eyes, tossing the ball in the air and catching it. Mac stares at him, feeling awkward for some undeterminable reason. He likes Dennis, probably more than he'd admit, but he's Charlie's friend really. He's still a bit of an enigma to Mac.

"Sucks about your Dad." Dennis finally says, tossing the ball into the hoop with ease. Mac's standing under it so he catches it when it falls through the net.

"Yeah." He mumbles, twisting the ball in his hands, "But… he's innocent and he's coming back."

Dennis doesn't say anything. He just quirks his brow in that easy way Mac's come to know and gestures for the ball. Mac throws it to him, watching him catch it. He lifts it above his head and lines it up again, squinting against the afternoon sun.

"Or maybe not." Mac whispers, for the first time, out loud. The sound joins the clink as Dennis throws the ball and it misses its target, hitting the rim and bouncing off.

"Goddamn it." He mutters, annoyed at himself. He's a perfectionist and he hates failure. Mac fetches the ball and hands it back to him. Dennis seems to blink into life, remembering what they'd been talking about. "Well, it's shit either way."

"Yeah."

He tries again and it goes in and Mac wonders when it'll be his turn.

"Why would he do it?" Mac blurts out suddenly. "I mean, he didn't, obviously. But if he did, why? Is he a bad person?"

These questions have been on his mind lately and for some reason, Dennis is the only one he feels like asking. Dennis is super smart, after all. He's the smartest person Mac's ever met.

"He probably had his reasons."

"What reasons?"

"Shit, I don't know." Dennis is getting impatient, the way he's prone to do. It looks like getting the ball in the hoop is far more important than Mac's existential crisis.

"Should I hate him?"

"I guess." Dennis shrugs. "But I hate everyone, so…"

There's a beat as Mac tries to process this information.

"Dennis?"

"What?"

"I don't think he's ever coming back."

 

 

Mac's Dad doesn't come back and it doesn't get any easier.

He tries to make his Mom better. He puts bows in her hair and buys (steals) her the ingredients she'll need to make cookies like Mrs Kelly. The box gathers dust in the cupboard but that's okay, she'll get around to it. He pours away the alcohol she doesn’t bother hiding and the mouthwash too, and he convinces himself everything will be fine.

He starts selling weed at school. He's not proud of it – he's definitely not proud of ratting out the other dealer so he can be top dog – but needs must and no-one really liked him, anyway. It's not like he has a rep to protect.

In some ways, he thinks it's the best decision he ever made because he has some spare cash now and he sees Dennis all the time.

Dennis is addicted to drugs. He's addicted to everything, really. He's a spoilt rich kid whose parents don't care about him either, so he fills the hole with anything he can find. He's taken to calling himself a God, but Mac wonders if he knows how textbook he is.

They're sitting under the bleachers in a free period Dennis has but Mac doesn't. He doesn't care. School's bullshit and he'd rather be here. He's not sure when he started spending so much time with him, when he started seeing him without Charlie, but he also can't remember a time when it was different.

"Shouldn't you be in trig?" Dennis asks after a few moments of peaceful silence.

Mac turns to him and watches him smoke. He's good at it, blowing out sophisticated rings through pouty lips most of the girls in school would be jealous of.

"Yeah." He shrugs, trying to look casual. "I don't give a shit though."

The corner of Dennis' mouth tugs into a lopsided smirk.

"Look at you." He drawls sarcastically and Mac's brows draw into a frown. He hates it when Dennis makes fun of him – which is, let's face it, a _not small_ percent of the time.

"It's stupid. I don't learn shit and, the whole goddamn time, I have to watch Charlie making moon eyes at the gross girl who sits in-front of us."

"The short one?" Dennis asks, taking another puff of the joint, "Blonde? Kinda clingy?"

"Yeah. I just call her Trig Girl." Mac thinks when they're older, they'll call her something else, probably something really clever, but right now he's only sixteen and that's all he can think of. "She's unbearable but Charlie's, like, totally in love with her."

"Gross." Dennis sneers, crinkling his nose. "I'm never going to be in love."

"Really?"

"Really. Falling in love's for assholes. I'm just going to bang chicks and get rich."

"You're already rich." Mac says, trying not to smirk.

"I'm not rich. My dad's rich." Dennis corrects him. "And he's a dick."

"Well, I don't think there's anything wrong with being in love. I definitely want to be in love. I want it all - a nice house, a wife and kids and shit. The whole shebang."

Dennis exhales smoke out of his nose in jerky spurts and then laughs loud and hard.

He uses the back of his hand, the one holding the half burned joint, to press into his eyes but still he laughs.

"What's so funny?"

"A _wife_? _You're_ going to get a wife?" He repeats like it's the funniest thing he's ever heard.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Mac’s cheeks explode into heat and his shoulders feel tense, like a coiled spring.

Maybe Dennis doesn't feel like getting his ass kicked today because he stops laughing and purses his lips.

He’s probably remembering the fury Mac unleashed on him last week. Tim Murphy’s sister said she was saving up for a PhD and when Mac asked him what that meant, Dennis helpfully informed him that it stood for “pretty huge dick”.

Mac had embarked on this whole speech about how he didn’t judge and how he was cool with trannies and Tim Murphy had punched him. He could have murdered Dennis right there and then, as he held his fist over his mouth, before he howled with laughter.

 _Goddamn_ , he could be a son of a bitch.

"Nothing, dude." Dennis says, but he still looks like he's in on a secret he's not sharing. "Forget it."

Mac's body feels tense, like he's choking, drowning under the weight of everything left unsaid. Dennis holds the joint out to him, offering it.

Mac shakes his head, trying to calm down. "Don't shit where you eat and all that."

"You're not using that right."

Now he's angry again. "Whatever, bro. I don't smoke my own stash."

Dennis rolls his eyes.

"Come here." He quirks a brow and tips his chin, beckoning him closer. Mac sighs but does as he's told, leaning in. "I'm going to blow it into your mouth and you're going to inhale. It's called a shotgun."

"What?" Mac jerks back, outraged. "Dude, that's gay."

Dennis rolls his eyes again, releasing an irritated sigh.

"Our lips won't touch. Don't be a pussy."

Mac's temper flares at the accusation and he's too young, too naïve in the ways of Dennis, to know he's being conquered. He grunts and gestures for him to get on with it.

Dennis smirks and doesn't break eye contact as he takes a hit. Mac watches his lips surround the joint, pink and shiny-wet, and that unsettling feeling returns to his gut. His skin burns hotter and something stirs deep inside – a feeling he's never had with a girl. Like always, he pushes it down.

Dennis holds the smoke in his mouth and leans in and he's a goddamn liar because their lips _do_ touch.

Electricity sparks from the contact and Mac almost pulls back in fright. He can't breathe and it feels like someone's got a hand around his heart, squeezing tight. It's barely a connection, just a soft brush of mouths, but it's enough to distract him so much he forgets to inhale properly. Instead, the smoke gets in through his stunned intake of breath and he starts spluttering.

Dennis laughs, loud and delighted and uncaring.

"You stupid son of a bitch." He slams him on the back, too rough, and Mac coughs harder.

He's not sure about the son of a bitch part, but he's definitely stupid.

Stupid for trusting him or for thinking it was a good idea, because everything changes after that.

 

 

Mac likes girls.

He knows this…

He thinks he knows this.

He's had sex before. He's from the wrong side of the tracks in Philly, where there's nothing to do except smoke and drink and act like you're ten years older than you really are. So, he's had sex with two whole girls and it was great. Both times, it made his legs ache and it was over in thirty seconds and he was wondering what he was going to have for dinner that evening, but it was _fine_. 

He's kissed loads of girls too, and done his fair share of hand and mouth stuff. He can get it up easily and he's jerked off to his Dad's old _Playboys_ more times than he can count.

So yes, Mac thinks he likes girls… but he's just _not sure._

Then again, he's not sure of much these days.

The thing is, once in a blue moon, when his hand travels under the waistband of his sweats, it's not tits or pussy he sees.

Sometimes he gets the urge after swim class, after seeing bare chests that are filling out and expanding muscles that drip shiny and wet. Sometimes it's after the gym advertisements he says he watches for inspiration. And sometimes, _only sometimes_ , it's after spending the day with Dennis.

It makes him feel sick, even as it makes him come. He spills hot and wet and sticky over his hand and Dennis' smirk burns behind his eyes, taunting him.

But that's okay, that's normal, he tells himself as he cleans up – because he's a _guy_ and he's _sixteen_ and sixteen-year-old guys jerk off to everything, all the time. It doesn't mean anything. He'll be forgiven - as long as he says ten Hail Mary's afterwards. As long as he keeps his hand on the Bible he stashes in his bedside drawer and apologises to God.

Sometimes he wonders whether God's listening. He wonders how little he thinks of him, if he even thinks of him at all. Then he gets confused and angry at himself for even doubting his Lord and Saviour and he smashes something.

Tonight's one of those nights and the shame hits him quicker than usual. It stirs in his belly and he jumps up and kicks Charlie's bedroom door.

By the time Charlie's returned from the bathroom, Mac's worked himself into a state. He shakes with anger, his entire body mad and buzzing and tired.

"Hey." Charlie puts his hand on his shoulder. "It's okay, dude. You're okay."

Sometimes, Mac thinks, everyone just needs to hear that.

 

 

Dennis likes to pretend he has no feelings, that he's this cold shell of a person, but Mac knows better.

He knows because one day, they're walking to class when they overhear Brad Fisher talking shit about Dee. He's telling Adriano Calvanese that she went down on him in the back of his Honda Civic and that she's a big, dumb slut.

Mac snorts and laughs it off but Dennis tenses next to him, before he goes absolutely nuts.

He punches Fisher straight in the face and the asshole goes down with a girly cry. He clutches at his nose, now gushing with thick blood, and Mac has to hold Dennis back while Adriano just stares.

"Say it again, you ugly piece of shit." Dennis is screeching, kicking out when he can't release his arms from Mac's iron-tight grip around his waist. He's practically lifting him off the floor as he yells profanity after profanity – mainly vicious insults about Brad's acne-prone skin - and a crowd starts to gather.

"Calm down, dude!" Mac shouts in his ear, above the noise. "You're gonna get in trouble!"

"Big fucking deal!" Dennis blazes, managing to slip out of his grasp. He goes for Brad again and Mac's never seen him like this, animalistic, teeth practically bared. "Don't talk shit about my sister, you fuck."

Brad is crying on the floor, letting out these little whimpers and looking like he might shit his pants.

Mac pulls at Dennis' arm again. He's still trembling with rage but he lets himself be restrained this time. Mac turns his attention back to Fisher. "Get a grip, dude. Jesus Christ. What are you, a _girl_?"

Brad cries harder and Adriano looks positively embarrassed for him. He tries to look cool but he's clearly shaken too and it's strange because he's popular and Dennis isn't. He thinks he is, thinks he's some sort of God with an army of loyal minions, but he always ends up under the bleachers with his sister and the kids they call Ronnie the Rat and Dirtgrub.

But if Dennis _is_ anything, it's pretty insane. His temper and outbursts have become somewhat legendary at St Joe's and people know to leave him alone. So, Fisher crawls to the medical room and tells the nurse that he fell in the hallway, failing to see the "wet floor" sign.

When Dennis is calm, picking at his food in the canteen fifteen minutes later, Mac asks him what the hell that was about.

"We call Dee a slut all the time, bro."

Dennis stabs his fork into an overcooked piece of meatloaf. "We’re allowed to, they’re not. She's ours, not theirs."

Mac raises a brow; he's making absolutely no sense.

But then, in a way he is.

They might be dysfunctional, the two of them and Charlie and Dee, but they work. People can talk shit as much as they like; they don't need anyone else.

They have each other and that's enough.

 

 

That evening, Dee finds out what Dennis did for her.

"You stupid boner." She snorts, but there's a smile tugging at her mouth, "I don't need you to beat people up for me. I'm a strong, independent woman."

"Shut up." Dennis grumbles, picking at the label on his Coors bottle. They're all tipsy on beer and whiskey they've stolen from Frank Reynolds' liquor cabinet and Mac's not sure what's changed, but they're allowed in the mansion now. They're sitting in a circle on the floor in the living room and Mac's being careful not to spill on the carpet.

"Hey Dennis?" Dee says and they all look at her.

"What?"

She shuffles slightly, nudging his shoulder with her bony one and… _is she blushing?_

"Thanks."

Dennis stares for a moment, blinks, and then gives one, curt nod.

Charlie obviously doesn’t read the tender moment because he lets out a loud burp, twirling the bottle of beer in his hand.

“It’d be kinda cool to have our own booze.” He ponders out loud, “Like, to not have to steal it all the time.”

“Well, I’m going to open a bar when I’m older.” Dennis says, like this is obvious and he’s mentioned it a hundred times already. “You assholes can come help if you want.”

“Yeah, we’ll need a drinks guy and a janitor. You can be our bar-turkeys!” Dee shrugs, like she’s always been in on the plan.

Dennis rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t argue.

Five minutes later, they’re toying with the idea of playing spin the bottle or truth or dare when the front door slams open and the shouting begins.

"Goddamn it." Dee mutters under her breath. "Time to go, white stains."

They all jump up, scattering to various places in the house. Dee grabs Charlie's hand and pulls him upstairs. His eyes are wide and he looks terrified, but it's a good hiding place because Dee's parents don't care about her so they'll never go in her room.

Mac's scared too. Once, a few years ago, him and his Mom saw Mrs Reynolds at a Macy's department store. She had big hair and shiny, red lips and a simple diamond necklace on. His Mom called Mrs Reynolds classy and he agreed. That doesn't mean he wants to meet her though, especially not when he's high and drunk off cheap beer.

Dennis has hesitated for too long and the hurled insults – _"dirty whore", "filthy animal"_ – are coming loud and fast. He curses under his breath, faltering in the hallway, before he drags them into the coat closet.

It's dark and quiet and the door shuts with a click.

"Ah shit. I left my beer out there." Mac says apologetically.

Dennis waves a dismissive hand. Mac can barely make it out in the dark. What he _can_ make out is how close they are, squished together in the tiny closet, and his heart starts to beat faster.

"Me too, don't worry. They're hardly gonna notice. They'll be at this shit for hours."

"That's fucked up, man."

Dennis laughs but there's little humour in it.

"We all have our crosses."

Mac frowns in the dark. "I don't. I've been meaning to get one, but they're expensive as shit and—"

"You're an idiot."

Mac's mouth slams shut and he's quiet. He shuffles on his feet, anxious the way he always is when he's alone with Dennis, and he tries to settle the butterfly stutter of his heartbeat.

They're still so close and Mac can feel the heat of his body. His throat burns and his chest hurts and it has nothing to do with the alcohol.

"Is, uh, is there a light?" He asks, clearing his throat.

"Nah. It bust years ago and my Dad's too cheap to fix it."

"It's dark."

"No shit."

Mac gnaws on his bottom lip, his right hand finding the doorknob. He holds onto it like he needs grounding, like he needs something to anchor himself to the world.

"I think there's a tool box up here somewhere." Dennis reaches up, his right hand searching blindly on a shelf just above Mac's head. He steps closer to do it and Mac holds his breath. "There might be a torch in it."

Dennis continues to fumble for the allusive toolbox and Mac's skin starts to tingle, warmth spreading to his toes. He can feel the entire length of his body pressed up against him, every lean muscle he's been dreaming about, and his breath is hot in his ear.

His own breath hitches in his throat. Dennis must notice because he freezes and the atmosphere hangs heavy and intense. Unbearably slow, he brings his arm back down, the tool box forgotten. He doesn't step back, doesn't move, and his hands go to the waistband of Mac's jeans.

"What are you doing?" Mac whispers, his voice deeper than usual. It sounds weird in his ears. His right hand curls tighter around the doorknob while his left hangs, useless, at his side.

Dennis doesn't answer.

His fingers trail across the waistband and Mac's super-strong abs twitch.

"Hey Mac?"

"Yeah?" 

"Wanna fool around?"

Dennis’ voice is lower too. His breathing, however, is clear and steady. He sounds like he just asked about the weather.

"What?!" Mac yells, causing Dennis to slap a hand over his mouth.

" _Jesus Christ_ , shut up."

Mac mumbles against his palm, the words muffled. When he's sure he's not going to shout again, Dennis lets his hand trail from Mac's mouth down to his chest.

"What are you talking about?" Mac mutters, his stomach churning, "Dude, I'm not gay."

"Neither am I." Mac feels, rather than sees, Dennis' shrug, "We don't have to label it. Besides, it's dark. You can pretend I'm a chick. And if it's _me_ touching _you_ , it's just a hand job, which straight guys get, right?"

Mac swallows, trying to sort through his alcohol-muddled thoughts.

"God will smite you." He mumbles, even as he feels himself giving in.

"I don't believe in God, so who gives a shit?"

 _I do_ , he wants to say.

He’s going to tell him he shouldn’t say shit like that, that he’s headed straight for Hell.

He’s going to tell him to fuck off.

But then he’s undoing the button on his jeans and pulling his zipper down and touching his dick and Mac can’t speak.

He can’t _breathe._

He freezes, all rigid and quiet. He’s hard immediately, his body reacting without his permission, and Dennis’ hand tightens around his cock.

Tangled thoughts buzz around Mac’s mind.

_What the fuck is happening? Why is this happening? Why am I not stopping it? This is going to be just… a fucking disaster. I’m going to hell, I’m going to hell, I’m going to hell…_

But if he’s going to hell…

His hips buck and he lets out a shaky breath he’s positive Dennis can hear. Dennis kind of nudges him backwards until he’s hitting the door and the doorknob is digging into his lower back. He doesn’t care because Dennis’ thumb is swiping over the head of his dick, collecting the pre-cum that’s gathered there.

He uses it as lube, his hand forming a fist and stroking up and down in a tempo that has Mac’s heart beating faster. Maybe it’s because he’s a dude too – one who gets a shitload of hand-jobs, if the rumours are true – but Dennis knows what he’s doing.

If he could take a moment to think, to clearly sort through the alcohol and weed and throbbing in his pants, he might consider that this is _Dennis_. Selfish Dennis who only cares about his own pleasure. His best friend Dennis. Who’s giving him the best hand-job of his life and it’s wrong and not what Mac wants and surely it can’t really be what _he_ wants?

He’s losing his mind. Dennis is touching him. Dennis Reynolds - a _boy_ \- is jerking his dick and Mac’s not gagging.

He twitches and pushes up into Dennis’ hand and stops thinking entirely, because his dick is one second from jacking its load all over his palm and he wants it more than he ever has before. 

Something about the complete lack of sound, save for their laboured breathing, makes the moment seem secret and scandalous – like, if a tree falls in the forest and no-one’s around to hear it, does it really happen? And that works for Mac because he’s probably going to pretend this didn’t happen, that he’s straight and normal and a boy has never made him come.

“ _Dennis_.”

His name comes out as a strangled choke and he wants to kick himself because how is he going to pretend now? Now he’s opened his fat mouth and penetrated the silence, brought attention to it.

Thankfully, Dennis doesn’t reply. His mouth just hovers over Mac’s and Mac pants into it. Their lips brush and it’s more sensual, more erotic, than any hot and heavy make-out session Mac’s ever had in the back of a chick’s car.

Mac wants to kiss him. He wants to kiss him more than he’s ever wanted anything in his life, but he doesn’t, because that would be gay.

Suddenly, Dennis’ hand starts to twist and jerk and stroke faster. He speeds his motions and Mac’s legs begin tensing. His breath quickens and his hands fly to Dennis’ waist. His nails dig in to his side, carving moon-shaped crescents into the skin beneath his top. 

Their mouths brush again, electric and intense.

And then Dennis Reynolds gives him an orgasm.

Mac’s mouth opens in a silent cry, head slamming back into the door behind him as he lifts his hips once more.

He’s sweating like a pig – a post coital, trapped in a closet pig – and he can’t breathe again. Dennis pulls his hand out and Mac wishes he could see his expression.

This is how they remain, silent and breathing heavy, until Dee shouts from somewhere in the house: _“The assholes are gone, assholes”._  

Mac takes their quick departure as a sign from God, a sign telling him to get the fuck out of there. He’s sinned and ten Hail Mary’s won’t be enough this time.

They open the closet door and leave what happened there behind.

 

 

Mac tries his absolute best to forget anything ever happened. He does such a good job he almost believes it.

Dennis never says a word and the months fly by like normal. Mac’s a little floored. If he didn’t remember it with stunning clarity, he might just think the whole experience was one very fucked up dream.

One Sunday in Spring, he helps Dee set up a picnic in the local park because they’re _totally_ grown up and responsible now.

“So, did you hear about Maureen?” She asks suddenly, straightening out the picnic blanket. She sits down on it and her back brace squeaks.

Mac stops what he’s doing – laying out bottles of sunscreen filled with straight vodka – and mirrors her position.

“What about her?”

“You’ll never believe it.”

“Just tell me, you bitch.” He rolls his eyes, wondering when the others will get here.

Dee is the most annoying person on the planet. He hates being stuck with her.

“She has a gross infection.”

“ _Ew_.” He scrunches his nose up and hates her even more. “Why are you telling me that?”

“Well, they say it was from a… _procedure_. Like, a botched one. Like, she got sepsis or something from a rusty knife.”

“Like… an _abortion_?”

“Yeah, dude.” Dee’s eyes widen like it’s the most scandalous thing she’s ever heard. It's _definitely_ the most scandalous thing Mac's ever heard. 

He stares for a moment, completely still, before he snorts a laugh.

“That sounds like bullshit. It’s not the 1960s, Dee. She could’ve just gone to the hospital and got it sucked out or whatever.” He’s not exactly sure how abortions work, but he figures that’s the gist of it.

“Well, that’s what they say.”

Mac pauses and rolls his eyes. He lays down on the blanket and folds his arms over his head. 

“Even if it’s true, who gives a shit? It’s nothing to do with you.”

“Actually it is.”

Mac tells himself not to bite, but his curiosity gets the better of him.

“How the fuck d’ya figure?”

There’s a beat. When she speaks again, her voice is much quieter.

“They say it was Dennis. He’s the one who got her in trouble.”

Mac’s stomach drops and he props himself up on his elbows.

“That’s bullshit.”

“Is it?” Dee asks, quirking a brow. “We both know he’s been banging her for years.”

“Yeah but he wouldn’t do… _that_.” Mac stutters because he _wouldn’t_ , “He’d be careful. You’re just lying because you’re a bitch.”

Dee scoffs in disbelief, her wide eyes blinking. Mac thinks she looks like a fish. An ugly, lying fish.

“Eat a dick, Mac. I’m not lying. Maureen is gross, who else would touch her? You’re just getting upset because you have a boner for my brother. _I’m_ just trying to be practical. Dennis is my twin and he might get in trouble, ya know? They say she’s real sick—”

“ _They say, they say –_ you’re so stupid, Dee. Don’t you ever think for yourself? This whole goddamn town has opinions for shit they have no idea about. None of those people know Dennis. Not like we do. So just… shut up, okay? Shut your goddamn mouth.”

Mac ends his rant quietly, his voice trailing off. Because while it _is_ true he knows Dennis, in and out in a way no one else does – there’s a lot he doesn’t know. Like what him and Maureen do when they disappear behind the bike shed at school or drive around the corner in the back of her Dad’s Datsun.

Or what possessed him to touch him that day and pretend nothing happened after.

Dee’s staring at him again but her expression is softer.  

“Alright, Mac. I’m sorry.” She says quietly and Mac wants to throttle her because she’s never, _ever_ apologised to him before and he doesn’t want this to be any different. “Forget I said anything.”

He’s still irrationally angry when Dennis and Charlie finally arrive. By the time they sit down and start dishing out the shit food, he’s come up with a suitable excuse for why he’s not eating.

 

 

“Holy shit!” Charlie squeals, delighted, as Mac crashes his motorbike into the wall.  

Dennis chuckles too, his shoulders shaking with laughter as he rolls his eyes and walks over to him. He pulls him up by the arm, patting him on his helmet.

“Good try, dude. Maybe next time, you’ll _actually_ kill yourself.”

Exhilarated, Mac laughs with delight. His ears are ringing and his head hurts, but he’s never felt so alive. Definitely not since his Dad left and his Mom stopped caring.

“That was so awesome, bro!” Charlie pats him on the back too hard. “This is, like, the best idea you’ve ever had.”

Mac staggers on unsteady feet, picking his Dad’s bike up and leaning it against the wall. He’s sure he wouldn’t mind; it’s not like he’s going to need it any time soon.  

He whips his helmet off, so he can see more clearly what he expects to be two awe-inspired faces.

“It could be more better.” He insists, wiping his brow. “It’s got to be _totally_ badass.”

“What has?” Dennis asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

Charlie stares at him like he’s stupid.

“Project Badass, dumbass!” He quips happily, “Mac does loads of cool stunts like this. One day, we’re gonna put it on the TV and he’s gonna be famous!”

“Yup.” Mac’s chest swells with pride. “Project Badass is gonna take over the world.”

Dennis snorts, reaching into his pocket to pull out a lighter and a packet of cigarettes. He cups his hand over the end and lets the tiny flame engulf it. He takes a drag and blows the smoke in Mac’s face.

“Screw off, bozo.” Mac frowns, waving the cloud away. “When I get rich, I’m gonna buy me and Charlie a house and you can live on the street like a stupid gutter rat.”

Dennis looks at him with narrowed eyes, contemplative. Mac tries not to shrink under his gaze. Dennis is always manipulative, always calculating, and Mac’s never sure what he’s going to say next.

Turns out, he’s not going to say anything because he just takes another drag of his cigarette.

Charlie’s babbling rudely interrupts Mac’s staring.

“ _Please_ can I, Mac? Please, please?”

Mac blinks before finally turning to him. He doesn’t miss the way one side of Dennis’ mouth is curving into a smirk. “Huh?”

“Please let me ride the bike home, please, please. I promise I’ll bring it back and I’ll take good care of it and it’s not like your Dad will need it—” He pauses, realising what he’s said. “Aw shit, sorry.”

Mac’s first reaction is to tell him to fuck off. But then he notices the way Dennis is looking at him, all brow quirked with the cigarette hanging between his teeth, and _there it is again,_ that stirring in the pit of his belly.

“Fine.” He tosses him the keys and the helmet along with them. “Don’t crash it, dumb dumb.”

Charlie’s eyes light up and he fucking _giggles,_ then he’s bunny hopping down the street on a bike Mac will probably never see again.

“He’s going to crash it” apathetic Dennis is back, his voice cool and aloof.

Mac sighs and wipes the sweat from his brow.

“I feel like taking a walk anyway. Home’s not far.”

They eye each other in silence for a minute, the atmosphere growing heavy and significant. They have nothing to do. Dennis is a male with a love for orgasms and messing with people’s minds. Mac is a male with a love for… well… _him_. He doesn’t know what’s running through Dennis’ mind but he definitely knows what he’s thinking about.

“It _is_ hot as shit, though.” He blurts out, feeling his face flush as he tips his head, squinting against the sun.

Dennis tips his head to the side but he doesn’t look surprised.

“The Range Rover has air conditioning.” He says, referencing the car he has parked around the corner. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and he stubs the cigarette out with his toe.

Mac’s pants tighten and his eyes grow dark.

“I could go for some air conditioning.”

 

 

Dennis tips his head back and groans and it’s the best thing Mac’s ever heard.

The sound drowns out any reprimands he can imagine God making and he closes his eyes, taking Dennis’ dick further into his mouth.

There’s no way he can pretend this isn’t gay anymore – but he doesn’t have it in him to give a shit.

They’ve been hooking up on the regular now, a few months since he climbed into the Range Rover, under the pretence of cooling down but really to return that messy hand job in the closet.

Just like what happens at night with Charlie and Uncle Jack, they don’t talk about it during the day – when they scoff Mrs Kelly’s apple pie or hang out under the bleachers or make fun of Dee.

He’s on his knees - which is fine because they’re in Dennis’ room and his carpet is soft and clean and doesn’t rub like sandpaper – and he opens his mouth wider, welcoming Dennis inside. His hands travel to his thighs, lean but still more muscular than he’s always imagined, and he curls his fingers around the backs of them.

“Oh fuck…” Dennis’ hips stutter and his hands tighten in Mac’s hair and Mac knows he’s close. “That’s it, baby…”

The pet name sends hot sparks of lust travelling the length of Mac’s spine and he sucks harder, his hand twisting around what his mouth can’t take.

“Shit.” Mac’s learned that Dennis likes to curse during sex – though they haven’t got _that_ far yet – and he’s learned that it’s probably his favourite thing in the world. “Shit, Mac. I’m gonna come.”

Mac’s eyes water and he pulls away, flickering his gaze upwards.

Dennis’ icy eyes are blown to black as he pumps his dick, the tip rapidly disappearing under his fist.

“Open your mouth, baby.”

Mac obeys immediately, without question, because he’s a slave to his affection and this is as natural as breathing to him.

Dennis pumps one, two, three more times before he lets out a grunt and fists ropes of thick white onto Mac’s tongue. His breathing is laboured as he reaches out and collects the spurts that have landed on his forehead and cheeks. He spreads them into his mouth and Mac bites his thumb.

“Fuck.” Dennis shudders. “That’s hot.”

Mac smiles, nuzzling into his hand. Once the post coital bliss wears off, his face hardens and he clears his throat. He doesn’t want Dennis to think he’s a pussy, after all.

They're just two bros, giving each other a helping hand, pun intended.

 

 

Mac doesn’t get upset when he sees his Mom passed out on the couch anymore.

He just sighs and swallows past the lump in his throat, grabbing the ratty blanket he never gets around to washing. He covers her up with it, careful not to wake her because no-one needs that outburst, and creeps upstairs.

He collapses on his bed and as soon as his head hits the pillow, he’s nearly asleep.

There are two raps on his window.

His eyes fly open and he swings his legs over the side of the bed. He’s not sure what he’s expecting when he reaches the window, but it’s sure as shit not Dennis waiting on the sidewalk.

“What are you doing?” He hisses, confused.

Dennis just shrugs. “I’m coming up.”

He’s not asking and he doesn’t wait for a reply before he starts climbing the pipe like he’s Romeo and Mac’s fucking Juliet.

“What are you doing here?” He asks again once Dennis has slipped through the window, exhibiting far more grace than Mac ever does.

He rolls his shoulders and Mac notices that he’s carrying a backpack. He sets it down by the bed and sits on the edge. He pats the comforter and winces slightly, his features twisting into a disgusted expression.

“Do you _ever_ wash your sheets, dude? They look disgusting. I don’t want to sleep here. I don’t like it.”

Mac gapes at him. “I never asked you to.”

Dennis sniffs. “Just come here. Don’t be difficult.”

“I’m not being _difficult_. I just don’t… understand… what we’re doing here.”

“You don’t understand _anything,_ you son of a bitch.” Dennis mutters under his breath, rolling his eyes to the sky.

“Okay.” Mac is suddenly furious. He’s angry at him for making him feel this way, for making him feel things he just doesn’t get and he’s angry at himself for not being able to stop. “You can get out now.”

Dennis pauses and something flickers over his face.

“Look, Mac. I don’t get it either.” He admits and it’s probably the only genuine thing he’s ever said in his life.

Mac waits, crossing his arms over his chest. The tip of his head is minute but it lets Dennis know he expects more.

He curses under his breath.

“Maybe it doesn’t need explaining. Maybe it just is what it is, okay? It’s nobody’s business but ours.”

Mac doesn’t understand that. How can Dennis get closer to God, if he doesn’t punish himself? If he doesn’t try to be a better boy?

“What about God?”

“Fuck God.”

Mac gasps, fighting the urge to drop to his knees and pray.

“You can’t say that, bro!”

Dennis stands up and walks over to him and then his hands are on his shoulders. His eyes - a sharp blue Mac’s never seen before, though he’s tried to find the exact shade numerous times – bear into his.

“I can and I will. I can do whatever I want and so can you. Look, if you need a God, why don’t you just pray to me?”  

His generous mouth quirks into a smirk and Mac thinks he looks more like the Devil.

But he’s right, in many ways.

Dennis is obsessed with control, with wrapping people around his finger and messing with their minds. He wants to be strong and powerful and loved, but to Mac, he always has been.

Maybe his Catholic God doesn’t want him anymore – that’s why he made his Dad go away and his Mom so sad – but maybe that’s okay because he worships Dennis now. There’s no room for anyone else.

Mac’s just tired of feeling guilty. He’s pondering on this so much he doesn’t notice Dennis grab his backpack. He doesn’t notice him pulling out a piece of red velvet cake his Mom must have made.

He shoves his hand into his back pocket, his movements strangely ungraceful, and pulls out a candle. He pierces the cake with it and flicks his lighter open, striking the wick.

Mac stares – from the cake in Dennis’ hands to the strangely uncertain expression on his face and back again - and his throat burns.

He must’ve known everyone else would forget.

It’s Mac’s seventeenth birthday.

 

 

One evening, while Dennis drives him home, Mac gazes out the window, drawing shapes on the foggy glass.

His recent orgasm is still flooding in his veins, warming his skin, and it gives him a clarity he doesn’t normally have.  

“What is it?” Dennis asks, expertly reading the situation as always.

Mac straightens himself up and makes sure he’s still staring out the window, so Dennis can’t see him - not that he's looking at him, anyway. 

“I’m just thinking.”

“That’s a first.”

Mac’s temper flares. “I’m _thinking_ about Maureen Ponderosa, if you must know.”

Dennis doesn’t say anything and Mac wishes he could turn his head – wishes he wasn’t so stubborn - because he wants to see his expression.

“Why?”

“Haven’t seen her around, that’s all.”

“Right.” Dennis answers and Mac hates it when his voice goes all blank like that. 

“I heard she was sick. Well, more than that. I know what happened to her… and I know it was yours.”

He’s still staring furiously out the passenger window, like his life depends on it, but he can feel the heat of Dennis’ eyes on him.

He doesn’t want to look but he swears Dennis has some sort of Jedi-mind power over him because his head turns to the side anyway. Dennis is glaring at him, expression hard and stern, and he holds his gaze for a beat before he turns back to the road.

“You don’t know shit.”

His voice is quiet but sharp and Mac’s throat hurts.

“I wish you wouldn’t have done that.”

Dennis shakes his head, a muscle near his right ear ticking as he clenches the strong line of his jaw.

Mac’s eyes burn for Maureen and what she had to go through and for Dennis, but mostly for himself… because he should hate him, but he just _can’t._

“I hope you don’t care about her.” He adds and it’s probably the most honest and most horrible thing he’s ever said.

Dennis says nothing, and they drive on, close but never further apart.

 

 

“Charlie?”

Mac’s voice is a whisper, but he knows he’s awake.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think my Dad is happy?”

Charlie shifts, his thigh rubbing up against him. It’s warm and soft but not the same as when he shares a bed with Dennis. Mac doesn’t want to touch Charlie. He’s never wanted to touch Charlie. Maybe that should be comforting; he’s not gay, after all.

But it’s not comforting, because maybe he doesn’t want _boys_ and he doesn’t want _girls_ … he just wants Dennis.

“I dunno, man.” Charlie answers his question. “I don’t want you to hit me or whatever, but… I don’t think your Dad was _ever_ happy.”

“I don’t either.” Mac admits quietly.

He wants to ask Charlie more questions. He wants to ask how he doesn’t see what’s going on with Dennis, when it’s right under his nose. He wants to ask why Dennis won’t kiss him still, what all this _“nothing with my lips”_ shit is about, when he doesn’t mind those lips anywhere, _everywhere,_ else.

He doesn’t ask any of this, because Charlie’s still talking about Luther.

“He shouldn’t have gone, though. He’s missing out… if you ask me.”

It’s probably the nicest thing Charlie’s ever said to him and Mac’s chest tightens.

“Sometimes I think he had the right idea. I fucking hate this place so much, it makes me sick. Sometimes I think it’d be better if I ran away, too.”

Charlie turns his head to look at him. Moonlight streams in through the window and illuminates his face and he looks confused and sad and angry.

“Don’t ever say that, Mac.” He demands and Mac’s shocked to see tears shining behind his eyes.

“Well, I would. I should.”

Really, he never would.

“Don’t!” Charlie practically yells, not caring about waking Mrs Kelly. He covers his ears and screws his eyes shut, like a child. “Stop saying that! You’re my best friend. If you go away, who’s gonna take care of me?”

Mac stares at him, dumbfounded. Charlie’s crying now, fat tears that roll down his flushed cheeks, and it takes a while for the penny to drop.

When Mac’s around, Charlie doesn’t have to be scared. He doesn’t have to be alone with his thoughts, always so muddled and confused. He doesn’t have to think at all. When Mac sleeps in his bed, Charlie doesn’t have nightmares and Uncle Jack can’t hurt him anymore.

“I won’t. I won’t ever leave, Charlie. I promise.”

All this time, Mac thought Charlie was saving him, when they were saving each other.

They’ll always save each other.

 

 

Prom is… pretty much the worst night of Mac’s life.

Charlie refuses to go, rambling on about hating high school and how if he’s just the Dirtgrub, he’s going to be the Dirtgrub, huffing glue in his basement and getting high.

Mrs Reynolds tells Dee she looks shit in her dress and Dee cries until her makeup runs and she looks like a raccoon. She shuts herself in her room and for the first time, Mac feels sorry for her. She’s annoying as shit but she’s his friend and she doesn’t deserve that.

Dennis brings a date and pretends Mac doesn’t exist.

It’s not fair. He’s always doing this.

He’s always going off and leaving him when all Mac wants is to be near him. And Dennis _knows_ that. He knows what he does and how he helps him and how he depends on him and still. He never gives enough.

But he always gives some.

And that _has_ to mean something.

He just needs to figure out if the rest matters or not. Right now, it definitely does because Maureen Ponderosa is back and she’s on the dance floor with him and they look pretty damn chummy.

His hands are on her waist and he’s holding her too close and Mac wonders if his hands look like that when they’re on him. He wouldn’t know. He only touches him in the dark when no-one can see.

Not that he’s touched him at all, since he confronted him about her. Goddamn, he hates Maureen. He hates her and her stupid, boring voice and her stupid dead tooth.

He hates her, but he also wants to _be_ her because obviously she has something that keeps bringing Dennis back.     

“He is _such_ a fucking asshole.”

Someone’s whiny voice rings in his ears and he turns his head to the side, finding Dennis’ gross prom date standing next to him.

He’s high and drunk - not that he would remember her name if he was sober - and instead of saying “hello”, he lets out a burst of air.

She crosses her arms over the ugly frills of her ugly dress.

“You know, he hasn’t even said two words to me. And I’m his _date._ ”

“What the shit do you want me to do about it?”

“Well, he’s a dick to me and he’s a dick to you. Maybe we can make each other feel better… if you get my drift.”

Mac nods, but no, he really doesn’t and he’s still trying to figure out when the hell Maureen came back.

“He’s not a dick to me. You don’t know anything, so shut up.”

“I know what you do in the back of his Range Rover.”

Mac straightens his back.

“I don’t do shit with Dennis.”

“I saw you by the railroad tracks a few weeks ago. I know. Everyone knows.”

His blood boils and he wants to smash something.

“What are you, his stalker or something? You sick freak.”

“Yeah.” She deadpans. “So, we doing this or not?”

 _Not,_ he wants to say – because she’s gross and he stopped liking girls last year and he’s pretty sure he’s in love with Dennis.

But that love isn’t getting him anywhere. It’s giving him nothing and now it just hurts to look at him.

So, he lets her drag him into a supply closet and it makes his chest hurt because it reminds him of how this all started. She kisses him and her lips are sticky with strawberry gloss and everything’s _wrong -_ because Dennis is out there with Maureen and he _won’t_ kiss him and Project Badass still hasn’t taken over the world.  

The world is falling apart instead so Mac bangs Dennis’ prom date. The thought of Dennis is what makes him hard and the secret doesn’t come out until they’re thirty-four.

 

 

Like some sort of pressure cooker waiting to boil over, things come to a head one week after prom.

Dennis slips through the window Mac can’t bring himself to close and then he’s just there, standing like he never left.

“I don’t owe you an explanation.” He says stubbornly, even though he’s here.

Mac crosses his arms over his chest.

“Okay.”

Dennis lets out an irritated breath.

“So, can we just go back to normal?”

Mac stares at him for a moment, before he blinks and shakes his head, because he doesn’t think he can.

“Do you want the truth?”

“Obviously.” Dennis bites out, characteristic impatience flitting over his features.

Suddenly Mac feels very uncomfortable and it takes him a moment to find the words. 

“I can’t go back to the way things were. Because the truth is… sometimes I miss you so much, I can’t fucking stand it. Because being your backseat dry-fuck is fun and all, but I think I deserve more from the relationships I can choose.” He rubs the heels of his palms into his eyes and lets out a disbelieving breath, “Because I’m in love with you and I don’t even know why.”

Dennis doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t look surprised either.

It feels like a weight’s been lifted and the floodgates are open; now Mac can’t stop.

“And I don’t understand why you do this. Why you’re looking for all the wrong things. Why you’re _mean_ and you say I have you – _always –_ but then you go and do that to Maureen and—”

“Jesus Christ, Mac.” Dennis finally speaks, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “That’s your problem. You believe everything you hear.”

“No. You don’t lie to me. Ever.” Mac says, because despite everything he’s not sure of anymore, he knows he has the Gang and the Gang have him.

“No.” Dennis murmurs. “I don’t.”

“You’re confusing me, Dennis. You’re always trying to confuse me.”

“Fine.” Dennis raises his hands like he’s giving up. “I’ll go." 

“No! Everyone leaves. You said about Dee, “ _she’s ours_ ”, and you were right. Charlie’s ours and you’re mine and I’m yours. You don’t _get_ to leave.”

“Do I _ever_?” Dennis rages, his temper like an elastic band that’s been stretched and snapped. “Don’t stand there and act like I take off, because I’m _always,_ always around for you. I’m here – even though it’s all wrong. Even though I have so much _shit_ going on, you don’t even know. I always come back here. To you.”

Mac pauses, dumfounded. Dennis has never been so real with him, so honest, and he looks genuinely uncomfortable – like he’s given too much of himself away.

“The shit you’ve got going on… are you talking about Maureen?” 

Dennis flinches then rubs the back of his neck.

“It’s just - it's all fucked up, Mac.” He sighs and his fingers start to tap against each other, each digit dancing erratically against his thumb, “I didn’t mean for it to get so fucked up.”

Mac stares at him for a second, with his mouth kind of half open and his eyes squinting.

“You got her pregnant.” He says and it isn’t a question.

He nods and his eyes look glassy, like he's only just admitting it to himself. “But she didn’t... want it and okay, maybe I didn’t either. And that’s… fine, it’s cool, we’re young and it’s her decision. But there were no secrets or backstreet surgeries or fucking rusty knives.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Dennis laughs and it’s all flat and dry and wrong. “I was… ashamed, I guess. But relieved? I don’t know. There’s just so much _shit._ ”

He’s not making any sense so Mac just takes a step towards him and takes his hand because that _does_ make sense.

“I would have listened, man. I wouldn’t have got so angry. I just – I saw you with her at prom and I thought you were back together…”

“We’re not.” Dennis shakes his head and Mac suddenly feels sick with guilt. “I just… I thought I should be there, you know?”

He wishes he knew how to make him feel better. Abortion’s a sin but he doesn’t know if he believes in God anymore and he _does_ believe in Dennis. He wants him to be happy and warm and safe, so he keeps all those bible verses zipped behind his mouth.  

He doesn’t know what comes over him. He thinks it’s the look on Dennis’ face, strangely soft and vulnerable. He reaches his hand up and curls it around his neck and then, _holy fuck,_ he winds his fingers in his hair and pulls his head to his. His lips seek out his semi-parted mouth and crashes it to his own.

He just… kisses him. He kisses him fucking hard and long and passionately.

He thinks Dennis will pull away, but instead, he lets out a desperate grunt and thrusts his soft tongue into his mouth. His hands are in his hair then, tugging him closer as their breathing hisses through their noses, tongues pushing almost violently against one another. Then it’s Mac’s turn to grunt and his knees begin shaking.

Then they’re sucking and pushing and pulling and their hands are everywhere. Dennis pushes him backwards and they’re both pulling at their shirts and jeans, and tumbling onto the sheets Mac still hasn’t washed.

Now he’s kissed him, he never wants to stop. Dennis rolls them over so he’s on top and he slips a hand between them.

Mac breaks away from his mouth, head tipping back in pleasure. His palms go flat on his back and he pulls him closer, rubbing and grinding their hardened cocks together.

“Dennis.” He pants into his mouth as Dennis’ hand pumps him, “I want to—”

He’s grateful he doesn’t have to say the words.

“You sure?”

Mac nods and lifts his hips and kisses him again. Then Dennis is reaching over for the small bottle of lube Mac keeps in the nightstand.

When he slips inside him – _finally_ – it sure as hell feels like love.

He sets a fast pace and Mac revels in it, spreading his legs and pulling him deeper inside. Dennis’ flushed skin leads Mac’s eyes up to his chest to his sharp collarbones, towards his throat, all stretched and taught, and then his chin and his gaping lips, hanging open as he pants in sharp intervals. 

He reaches up and kisses him again, tongue licking inside the cool cavern of his mouth. He clings onto him - because yeah, he hurts him, but he's the only one who makes him feel better too.

“You’re so good, Mac.” Dennis murmurs against his mouth and his flesh is searing under Mac’s fingers.

Maybe it’s the compliment – because Mac has only ever thought he’s bad – or just the way he feels inside him, but Mac comes so hard beneath Dennis Reynolds, he’s almost delirious.

When Dennis follows, releasing a heavy groan, Mac settles next to him.  

As always, he breaks the silence.  

“I think you love me.”

“Jesus, Mac.” Dennis sighs.

“You don’t have to say it. I heard it, anyway.”

Dennis doesn’t say anything, and Mac doesn’t mind the quiet.

 

 

Things change again for Mac, the year he turns 23.

After graduation, he and Charlie get jobs down at the _All American Home Store_. It’s nothing special but they’re not smart like the twins are and South Philly has always been enough for them, anyway.

They move in together because even though he’s too old for Uncle Jack now, Charlie hates the memories. They find a ratty place that Mac hates and Charlie loves and they know it’ll only be temporary.

Only until Dennis comes back.

Mac checks in on his Mom, who never makes a sandwich again, and he keeps covering her up with the blanket and hoping she’ll get better. Mrs Kelly buys him a camera for his birthday (he doesn't want to know where the money came from) and Charlie films his stunts, so Project Badass will be changing the world any day now. 

Dennis finishes college, Dee doesn’t, and the four of them buy the bar they’ve been dreaming about since the summer of ’93.

Charlie and Dee find out about him and Dennis. Or more accurately, they admit they always knew. They say their silence is only because they don’t give a shit but Mac knows better.

Besides, he’s started to notice the little glances Dee and Charlie give each other when they think no-one’s looking.  

“It makes sense.” Mac tells Dennis when he sees it too. “I mean, what are the chances of us finding someone outside of the Gang who can deal with how fucked-up we are? Maybe we really are destined—”

“To be alone?”

Mac rolls his eyes and throws the apple he’s peeling for him at his head.

“For each other.”

Maybe one day his Dad will come home, but maybe he won’t and that’s okay too. Because right now, he’s loved and he’s okay and his life is everything he never knew he wanted.

He isn’t gay or straight or bad or good, he just… _is._

He’s _Mac_ and he’s enough.


End file.
